


Sabrae

by Daxolotl



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blood Magic, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-07 15:34:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4268706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daxolotl/pseuds/Daxolotl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You ask if it's going to be an adventure. "Yes, Merrill," they say. </p><p>"I imagine it will be."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Towers at Dawn

You're just a child when you meet Marethari. Your parents say that you will be going with her, and you ask if it's going to be an adventure. "Yes, Merrill," they say (you can't remember which one says it anymore; their words blur together). "I imagine it will be."

You go with Marethari. It takes you two weeks to realise that you're never going back to the Alerion clan.

You cry a lot that night. The other Dalish, your clanmates now, pretend not to notice. You think they understand. Your clan was everything to you.

_

Marethari trains your magic, and makes you into her First. She teaches you the history of your people, and she's patient with your endless questions. The more you learn, the more you realise how little your people really know about the history of the Elves. You want to fix that. You tell your Keeper, and she says it's an admirable goal. She admires you, and the warm feeling follows you for the rest of the day.

_

You sneak away from the camp late one night, when you're staying near to a human settlement. You don't know why – shemlen are never welcoming, from what you've heard. But you just want to see it. It sounds so odd; people living in static structures of stone, far away from your trees. You approach from a hilltop, settling yourself in the grass to overlook the village.

It's less impressive than you'd hoped; mainly buildings of wood and straw, like big unmoving aravels. They don't look so bad to live in. One of the buildings dominates the rest, though. It's made of stone, with a tower rising high above it like a mighty oak tree. It reminds you of the stories Hahren Paivel tells you about the history of the Dalish and the battles against shemlen kings. You don't know what a king is, exactly, but they sound important. You feel like a king probably lives in that building.

You stay on your hilltop until the sun crests the horizon. You're running your fingers through the grass when you hear it, and the sound almost makes you jump out of your skin. The tower of the big building is ringing, making a terrible din. You want to cover your ears and block it out, but after a few moments, it stops sounding so terrible. You start to recognise tones, rhythm and tune to the cacophony. It's like birdsong; overwhelming until you learn to listen. And once you learn, it becomes beautiful.

_

You start getting to know the other elves your age whenever you have free time. Most of them seem amused by your naiveté; Tamlen in particular seems to enjoy trying to catch you out with turns of phrase and metaphors. His friend, Mahariel, chastises him for it, but she can never stop her smile whenever you trip over a phrase. Sometimes you pretend to be confused by what Tamlen says, just to see her smile. She smiles at you, and your heart melts a little bit. You over-exaggerate your realisations, and she laughs. You like hearing her laugh. It sounds like shemlen towers at dawn.

_

Your friends grow into hunters, and you grow into a First. They talk about their escapades together and about the evening meal, and you talk about your history. Their faces fall blank, not understanding, and your smile falters. You have so little history; how can they not even know the pieces that you've learned? You start to realise that you're not the only naïve one.

Marethari tells you that it's the burden of the Keeper to know the history of the elvhen, but you don't understand that. You don't see it as a burden. You see it as a gift to be celebrated. You don't understand why she'd keep all this knowledge to herself instead of sharing it with the clan.

_

The others stop spending time with you. They don't want to know their history.

_

Mahariel wants to know. She comes to you, and you think they're all playing a cruel joke on you. You tell her to go back to her friends, and the look of hurt on her face breaks your heart. You apologise, and ask her to wait. She does.

You tell her the history you know. She listens. Sometimes she whittles sculptures to go with your stories, other times she works on the bow she's making as part of her journey to becoming a full hunter, carving intricate details into the wood. It won't be as good as one Master Ilen makes, but that's not the point. She has to make it for herself.

_

You're eighteen, and preparing to have your vallaslin applied. You're ready for it. You meditate on the gods, focusing on your breathing and trying not to let your mind wander. You know it will hurt, but you know you can handle it. Mahariel and Tamlen already have theirs, and most of the others should be getting them within the next few months. Junar let it show that it hurt, so he has to wait until the Keeper decides he's ready. The other young ones made fun of him for it, but Mahariel and Tamlen seemed to understand. They told him he'd definitely get it next time.

Oh, damn it, your mind wandered. You refocus on your meditations, only to be interrupted by the sound of soft footfalls in the grass. You open your eyes, expecting to see Marethari walking towards you, but you don't. Instead, Mahariel approaches and sits cross-legged in front of you. You smile at her and then close your eyes again.

She tells you it will be fine, and that she believes in you. Her fingers interlink with yours and you can hear her breath. You thank her for her support, and for listening to you, and for being so wonderful. She kisses you, which you think is a better way of saying everything you just said. You kiss her back, and then Marethari is calling for you. It's time.

You're smiling right up until the needle touches your skin.

_

You're twenty when you first see your mirror. You're with Mahariel, hunting through ruins for Tamlen after he went missing. You fought your way through darkspawn, the awful things that they are, and you're worried that your friend might be dead when you see the object. It glints of untold secrets, of the history of the elves.

You meet your first human in the ruins, too. He calls himself Duncan, a Grey Warden. He tells you the mirror is a Tevinter Eluvian, but you don't believe him; you know the Tevinter Imperium stole so much of the elvish history, and you can't imagine them making something so beautiful. He shatters it, and you see your history shatter as well.

Then Mahariel collapses, and your full attention is on her. You forget all about the mirror.

_

You're twenty, and the world you've known since you were a child is falling apart around you. The woman you love is tainted. The corruption of the Darkspawn is rushing through her veins, and the Grey Warden says she will die. You sob and scream and beg Marethari to find a way to save her. You can't let her die. She shushes you and say she'll speak to the human to try and find a cure. You feel like your heart is being ripped out of your chest as she talks to him, as Mahariel lies almost comatose in a tent.

You go to her, holding in your cries like when your vallaslin was applied, and you grasp her hand. She can't die. She can't. You don't care what you have to do to save her. If the Keeper can't, you'll find another way.

_

She has to leave. The Grey Wardens are gathering, and her only hope of survival is to become one of them and to become immune to the Taint. Marethari says that she can never return to the clan, and you want to start screaming that it isn't fair. Mahariel is the best of all of you, and the keeper says she can never return. Will you even hear if she survives the ritual and the battle to follow? Will Duncan think to send a letter if she dies on the way to Ostagar?

She speaks to you last, after saying her goodbyes to the rest of the clan. Her voice is softer than you've ever heard it, like every syllable pains her, and you wonder if she's holding back tears as well. Her words break apart halfway through her goodbye and your question is answered. The two of you cry as you hold each other. She kisses you, not caring what the others think, and you hold on to her for as long as you can.

"Ir abelas, ma vhenan. Mala suledin nadas."

She kisses you again, and you can feel yourself breaking apart.

"Dareth shiral."

_

The Grey Wardens are dead.

_

You return to the ruins. The mirror stole Mahariel and Tamlen, and you don't even know why. How could a mirror become tainted? What did the mirror mean to the ancient elves who lived in these ruins of stone?

You lift up a shard of the mirror and rest your thumb against its edge, feeling it press into your skin.

This mirror stole Mahariel from you. It stole her, and she can never come back. Your grip tightens and the mirror's edge slices through flesh, biting into your thumb. Blood drips over its surface, and magic flares from within you, scorching the crimson and leaving the shard shimmering.

You can't bring Mahariel back, but you can bring the mirror back. You can free it of its taint. Your people have lost so much – _you_ have lost so much. You won't let this be lost, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean for the ending to get so angsty, I swear! I wanted to write something happy and fun for Merrill Positivity Week. I love the character of Merrill, and my first ever Warden was a female Mahariel. I'm planning on continuing this story and having it become considerably less angst-ridden as it continues. Less grief, more happy Merrill.
> 
> The translation of the elvish is "I am filled with sorrow for your loss, my heart. Now you must endure. Farewell."


	2. Surviving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your grip tightens on the shard in your pocket. Isn't that just what you're doing? Coping?
> 
> Your fingers catch the edge of the mirror's blade and you pull your hand away, sucking on your fingertips and tasting iron. _No_ , you think. You're not coping. You're surviving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've edited the rating and warnings to match with the content of this chapter. So, y'know, be aware of that.

The clan moves north. Marethari says it's too dangerous to remain with the Darkspawn advancing. You hear the unspoken half of her statement. It's too dangerous to stay now that the Grey Wardens are gone. The only option for you is to run and hide, and hope that the Blight is stopped before it swallows up all of Ferelden.

A few of the younger hunters want to stay and fight. Fenarel wants revenge for your lost clanmates. Part of you wants to tell him that revenge won't help, but deep down you know he's just coping with the loss in the only way he can. Your grip tightens on the shard in your pocket. Isn't that just what you're doing? Coping?

Your fingers catch the edge of the mirror's blade and you pull your hand away, sucking on your fingertips and tasting iron. _No_ , you think. You're not coping. You're surviving.

And sometimes the taste of blood is the only thing that reminds you that you're still doing that.

_

Some nights you wonder if she became a Grey Warden.

You like to think that she did. You're not really sure why; you suppose it's more heroic than the alternatives. You don't like to think of the alternatives. The idea of her wasting away, pale and clammy as the Taint slowly takes away everything about her that -

You prefer to imagine her healthy. You imagine her on the battlefield, Dalish longbow raised, cutting down the darkspawn as they advance. Standing proud as an elf amongst the Wardens. Part of two cultures, but never forgetting the one she truly belongs to.

Belonged to, you remind yourself. You don't like imagining that part. When you try, your mind goes to happier ideas. You see her singlehandedly defeating the Archdemon and returning to the clan a hero. You see yourself running into her arms and kissing her, telling her how you never thought to see her again.

But that can't happen. The Grey Wardens are dead. If she didn't become one, then the Taint took her. If she did, then the Blight took her. 

The nights you think of these things always end the same. You curl inwards, and weep for your lost heart.

_

You're almost out of the forest when the first Darkspawn catch up to you. It was too much to ask that you'd outrun the Blight completely. 

The sun is setting when you hear them approaching. The hunters whistle signals and you see them scatter through the treetops, bows drawn. Marethari orders you to gather the rest of the clan and to protect them. You hear inhuman cries as the hunters begin their attack, and your grip tightens on your staff. A city elf – Pol, you think his name is – stands with you, holding a pair of Dar'Misu. He's clumsy, and hardly a hunter, but you know he'll fight. You nod at him reassuringly, trying to put on a brave face, and he smiles.

Then the first of the Darkspawn crest the hill, and his smile is gone.

_

Marethari shouts something, and the two of you take positions at either side of the group. You let energy dance across your staff blade, fire and lightning and fury. She shouts again, and you swing, letting the energy loose and shooting flame from the staff's tip. You catch one of the darkspawn within it and the others stagger backwards, screeching above the sounds of their companion burning. The smell of burning flesh fills your nostrils and you slam the base of your staff against the earth. A cone of ice shoots outwards, freezing the unfortunate darkspawn and leaving a defensive wall.

You can do this. You've practised with Marethari enough times, and this isn't the first time you've fought darkspawn. The last time flashes into your mind; ruins, darkspawn, Mahariel's voice in your ear as she tells you how much you mean to-

You shake yourself out of your reverie and refocus. The darkspawn are pacing, not wanting an outright assault on a wall of ice. You can still hear the hunters killing; if you wait a few minutes, they'll come back to the camp and finish the stragglers. An Alpha darkspawn crests the hill. It's big, and monstrous, and cruel. Half a dozen dalish arrows protrude from its chest. If you were thinking clearly, you'd know those were from the hunters, trying to bring it down before it reached the camp. 

But you aren't thinking clearly. To you, those are Mahariel's arrows. This is the creature which has haunted your nightmares, the creature which took your heart from you. It grins, showing more yellowed, sharpened teeth than anything should have. 

You've never hated anything so much in your entire life.

You scream and swing your staff at the wall, melting it away. Fire surges from your staff as you strike the darkspawn. Marethari is shouting for you to get back in formation, but you don't care. You're back in those ruins, fighting for your life. You're on the field of battle with Mahariel, killing the darkspawn with her. And you just want to make them hurt. The first burns in an instant, and you slash the second's throat with your staff blade. He gurgles and falls as you steady yourself in the rhythm of offensive spellcasting on the Alpha. It holds up its shield, blocking your attacks even as you advance on it, and once you're close enough you swing your staff down on the ugly piece of metal.

It shatters. 

Your staff, that is. Not the shield.

The wood splinters in your hands, cutting through your skin, and your momentum sends you toppling forwards. The Alpha swings at you with its shield, catching the side of your head. Your world spins and you fall to the ground, dizzy. You try your best to aim and shoot a fireball at it. It doesn't even mark the creature's shield, and you can feel your strength ebbing.

It raises its sword again, only to be tackled by a blur of movement.

_Mahariel_ , you think. _She came back._

Then you see Pol next to it, blocking its sword with his twin blades, and your heart sinks. He's knocked its shield away, but now it holds its blade in both hands. It headbutts him, and he staggers backwards. You climb to your knees and crawl away, searching for a weapon. Your hands wrap around the remains of your staff blade, and you turn back to face the Alpha. It kicks Pol away, knocking him into one of the aravels, and turns to focus on you. Not a fan of mages, you suppose. You laugh at the thought, delirious from pain.

You stagger to your feet, raising the staff blade. It laughs at you, and the sound reignites your fury. You shoot fire and ice from your hands, lunging with your blade straight towards the darkspawn.

It catches your wrist and snaps it backwards. You scream at the pain before it grabs your throat, lifting you into the air. That silences you fairly effectively. You struggle in its grasp. Your hands shake and dark spots dance in your eyes. Blood drips down your face, warm and sticky, and the feeling snaps you back to consciousness. You move your unbroken hand to your other arm, gripping it tightly. You can feel a splinter from the staff buried in the skin, and you push it deeper. The pain makes your vision blur, but it also brings fresh blood to the surface. You stare right into the eyes of the alpha, the thing you hate most in this world, and you smile.

You dip your fingers into the blood and trace a rune on your arm. You feel it burn, and the alpha raises its sword. You grab the hand that's choking you. 

A pair of colossal arms grab the Alpha. 

There's a moment where you notice the shock on its face as it realises its mistake, and then you rip it in half.

You drop to the ground, gasping for breath and coughing. You look to the rest of the clan, and see the disappointment on Marethari's face.

_

One of the hunters died, and four were injured. Nobody else was hurt except for yourself and Pol. Marethari does her best to heal your wounds, binds your wrist, and calls you a fool for attacking alone when you should've been protecting the clan. She doesn't mention the blood magic, which you're certain she saw. You can see the worry in her eyes, though, and you're not sure if that's because of the blood magic or because you almost died. 

There's something else in her eyes, though. You don't recognise it right away, but eventually you remember where you've seen it before. The clan shared that look when Marethari's Second died. 

It's pity.

_

There's a human settlement west of the forest. You can see the fire in the distance and the smoke rising from it as the aravels continue travelling. The towers are ringing, and it doesn't sound beautiful. You wonder how many people escaped from the village. You wonder if any did.

_

Variel talks to you as you travel through the night. You only half-listen; you know she's been asked to keep you awake, to make sure you don't slip into a coma. She's talking about your magic, but you aren't paying attention to it. You think she might be scared of you. You just nod. Your fingertips trace the edge of the mirror shard. 

_Still surviving_ , you remind yourself.

You stare outwards, watching the world pass you by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I'm actually continuing a story I've written! This is almost unheard of. I have big ideas for the direction of this story, and I really want to continue writing it.
> 
> Bonus fact: I'm hoping to include something in every single chapter which will tell you at what point in the game each chapter takes place in. Chapter 1 was obvious; pregame and prologue, ending shortly after the Battle of Ostagar. This chapter only has a small reference to where it fits into the larger storyline of the games, but it's there.
> 
> Bonus bonus fact: Crushing Prison is the most cool-looking ability in DA2, and I completely took the ending of the fight in this chapter from the ending of the extended "Destiny" trailer for Dragon Age 2.


End file.
